Irrevocable
by SummerSiren
Summary: Draco makes a split-second decision to save Hermione from torture and reluctantly finds himself on the side of the angels. As events rapidly move toward open war between the Order and Voldemort, he has to decide whether he's ready to change his mind, without realizing that Hermione is already changing his heart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I had so many clear mental images from this plot bunny that I thought I'd try to string them all together into a multi-chap. This story starts in the middle of _Deathly Hallows_ but there will be some major changes and a much heavier emphasis on Draco and Hermione's POVs. We're going to go beyond the ending of _Deathly Hallows_ and explore the aftermath of the war as well!

I really hope you like the story and I'm looking forward to your responses. Hearing from the readers definitely energizes and encourages me, and it's also very helpful in case there are things that I forget or miss.

You can also find me on Tumblr! I'm **xxsummersirenxx** , and other than here that is the best place to ask me questions (plus on Tumblr I can respond to anon questions which is nice!). Anyway, I hope you'll share your thoughts with me, but most of all I hope you enjoy the story!

 _Pairings: Dramione, Remadora, Hinny, Theo/Luna, Ron/Lavender, and probably a few other secondary pairings as we go along._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he'd never forget the sound of her screams.

They reverberated in his bones, driving Draco Malfoy's shame—yes, _shame_ —to new heights. It hadn't started as shame of course. It had started instead with terror and discomfort, but by the time his aunt Bellatrix had finished carving the word _Mudblood_ into Hermione Granger's arm, those emotions had definitely morphed into a deep sense of self-loathing. He had the briefest image of throwing himself in front of the next Cruciatus curse, but a quick glance at his parents kept him still. Painfully, shamefully still.

 _If I save her, I kill my parents,_ he told himself. _I kill my mother._

But his mother was a grown woman, a fully trained witch with a wand. Hermione Granger was not. Another scream pierced the air and Draco's self-control, already in tatters, was shredded further. The girl's body arched high off of the floor and then slumped again, and when she opened her eyes they settled on him. Proud Granger, broken at last, forced to plead with him. His stomach rolled over at the realization, and he was very nearly sick underneath the ancient family tapestries. Even in this upside-down world, seeing Granger humbled seemed wrong, unnatural. He had wanted to best her, of course. He'd spent six years trying to do just that. But to break her, to laugh as she was tortured at his feet?

Bile shot up to his throat, nearly overwhelming him. He clamped his lips tight and swallowed it. He realized that he could just make out Weasley screaming too, down there with Potter and Dean Thomas and Loony Lovegood, with a goblin and a wandmaker. Along with Wormtail and the Snatchers and the werewolf they made as sorry a cast as they did a production, and that horrible sense of being lost at sea washed over Draco again. Lost and drowning— _Granger or my mother?_

He was snapped back to attention by his father responding to a sound in the cellar, a loud c _rack_ that Draco himself had only vaguely registered while he was busy with his internal struggle. While Bellatrix dealt with the goblin, Lucius Malfoy turned to his son.

"Go and check on our prisoners," he said, and though a protest immediate jumped to Narcissa's lips, she took one look at the expression on her husband's face and fell silent. Perhaps she wanted to spare her son from the torture for a few seconds. With a curt nod, Draco turned on his heel and left.

He paused outside of the cellar door and sucked in a breath. It was time to make a final decision.

"Stand back from the door!" he shouted. Then, quieter, "I'm coming in, Potter—don't do anything stupid and I might be able to help."

"He's lying," he heard Weasley growl, but if Potter answered it was too quiet to make out. Draco took one last deep breath to brace himself and then he opened the cellar door and stepped in. The unexpected light caused him to blink for a moment, and in that second's disorientation, Weasley lunged at him. Potter was faster. He caught his friend around the waist and held him back, barely. Draco quickly made sure he was out of reach and put a wall against his back. It was only then that he saw something was wrong.

There were too few prisoners in this room.

"Wha—?" His eyes shot up to Potter's. "What's going on?"

The other boy hesitated, his eyes searching Draco's as above them, Granger started to scream again. Weasley struggled hard against Potter's grasp but he couldn't break free and a moment later he sagged, exhausted from his efforts.

"I only have a minute, probably less," Draco hissed. "So don't mess me about. Do you have a way out of this cellar?"

"Harry, _don't!_ Don't tell this rat bastard anything! He'll tell them!" Weasley's voice was ragged from his earlier shouting. Potter ignored him, still searching his rival's expression. Draco wanted to shout, to rail at him for wasting time, but he curbed his impatience.

"If you don't tell me," he said instead, his voice deadly quiet, "they'll call the Dark Lord and turn her over to Greyback. I'm the only one that can get her out."

"You hate us," Potter said. The _why should we trust you_ was implied. Draco only shook his head, unsure he knew how to convey that enmity and envy aside, _no one_ deserved the special hell that Granger was enduring upstairs. In the end he didn't have to. Potter came to his decision quickly and inexplicably.

"Dobby is Disapparating us out of here."

 _A house-elf, of course_. The elf's strange brand of magic could ignore the wards that had been placed on the cellar to prevent the prisoners from escaping. It was genius, and he wanted to ask how they'd gotten word out to the elf, but another scream and Gregyback's growing impatience to 'taste the girl,' underlined his need for haste.

"Where?"

There was another pause, and Weasley was practically begging Potter not to say.

"Damn it, Potter, she's _dying._ _Where?"_

"To Bill and Fleur Weasley's. Shell Cottage outside of Tinworth. Draco—you've got to get the sword, too. We've got to have it."

 _Merlin's beard, he doesn't ask for much, does he?_ He had no idea how he was going rescue both the girl and the sword, but he was going to have to try. Something about Potter's expression convinced him that the blade was nearly as imperative as Granger's life.

"Wait for the elf here. I'll meet you at the cottage with Granger and the sword."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ducked out of the cellar, slamming the door shut behind him. He could hear Weasley's howling protests and Potter's attempts to calm him, but he shut them out of his mind. If he was going to get Granger _and_ that blasted blade out of Malfoy Manor, he was going to have to wait for just the right moment. His timing would have to be perfect. His only advantage was the element of surprise. Even if they all thought his support of the Dark Lord was suddenly more lackluster than it had been a year before, not even Bellatrix would expect him to betray his parents and leave them at Voldemort's mercy.

He swallowed and pushed away the image of what Voldemort's mercy was likely to be like. If he thought about that, he'd be lost all over again. By the time he'd reentered the drawing room, his expression was composed. He was so tense that he nearly vibrated with it, but he forced his face to relax.

"They were trying to free themselves," he said. "I took care of it."

No one questioned him further. Bellatrix had turned her attention back to the Malfoys. They were arguing over which of them should summon the Dark Lord, and Draco's eyes swept the room. His aunt was under a huge glass chandelier, and his parents were close enough to her that they'd be distracted by its fall but not badly harmed. Wormtail and Greyback were another problem. The former had come over, hovering close enough for Draco to smell him. The later was pacing, his eyes locked on Granger's form. She looked small and too still, and he could see blood pooling under her body. In a small stroke of luck, the goblin they'd captured was standing within arm's reach of her, clutching the sword Potter wanted so badly.

He gripped his wand and forced himself to concentrate, to shut out Wormtail's smell and Bellatrix's shrieks. He tensed all his muscles, hoping that his old seeker's reflexes were up to this impossible task. He shot his mother one last look, wishing he could save her too, and then he couldn't delay anymore. His aunt was raising her arm, about to press her fingers to the Dark Mark—

His spell neatly severed the chain that was holding the great chandelier above her head. He spun and elbowed Wormtail in the nose and in the same motion brought his wand around and shot a stunning spell at Greyback. Wormtail doubled over, clutching at his face, and Draco yanked his wand out of his blood-slicked fingers. He darted toward the werewolf, hitting him with a second stunning spell just to be safe, and then took his wand as well.

In the crucial seconds that he'd been disarming the others, Bellatrix was struggling to pull herself out of the wreckage of the chandelier. She'd been struck and she was dragging her leg, but she wasn't out of the fight yet. The goblin was pinned under some of that same wreckage but Granger hadn't been caught in the worst of it, thank Merlin.

He sprinted forward, dodging a curse from his aunt's wand. He shifted the wands in his hands so that he held them all in one fist and dove toward Granger.

" _Filth! TRAITOR!"_ Bellatrix shrieked. She lifted her wand again just as Draco's fingers closed around Granger's wrist. He saw her mouth, saw her lips start forming those fatal words, _Avada—_

" _Stupefy!"_ Narcissa screamed, and her aim was true. Her spell hit Bellatrix square in the back, and Draco didn't waste this opportunity. He hauled a barely-conscious Granger up to her feet and yanked her forward, making a desperate grab for Bellatrix's wand.

"Draco!" His father was shouting, his face white with shock and betrayal, but he couldn't think about that. He didn't dare think about that. His mother had attacked her own sister to save him, he couldn't stop now. He shoved the extra wands into his pocket and grabbed the goblin. With one last, anguished look at his mother, he turned on the spot and disappeared.

* * *

Draco staggered when his feet hit solid ground, and Granger listed dangerously to the side in his one-armed grasp. He released his hold on the goblin to catch her with his other arm, steadying her against him as he straightened back up. She moaned his name and he tried to hum at her in a comforting manner, but the noise that came out of his throat was thin and broken as he searched the surrounding area for any danger. He smelled the sea and caught sight of a shadow against the night sky that was probably the cottage Potter had told him about. Around them, he could hear the sound of bugs and the not-so-distant crash of waves. They had made it. They were, for now, safe.

Granger's fingers were curled into his shirt and she was clinging to him with all the strength she had left. Draco shifted her in his arms to better take the brunt of her weight. Then he glanced down at the goblin. The creature was dazed and bleeding, and he was covered in cuts from the broken chandelier. He was still clutching the sword, but weakly, and Draco pulled it free from his grasp. He ignored the growl he received in response; goblins could be cunning, and Potter had needed this sword enough to risk Granger's rescue for it.

 _"Hermione!"_

Draco's head turned toward the shout and he spotted Weasley and Potter nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to get to her. She had started crying, her tears soaking into Draco's collar, and she was saying their names over and over.

Weasley reached them first. He immediately grasped her arm, trying to pull her away from Draco, but she didn't release her grip on his shirt. The look Weasley shot him then was so full of malice that it took every ounce of willpower Draco had not to hex him into next week. He felt the bitter twist of his lips and was about to take a chunk out of the redhead's hide when Potter pushed his friend gently away.

"You got her…you got them both." The gratitude on his face was too much. Draco turned his gaze away. He lifted his hand to uncurl Grangers fingers. When she'd finally relinquished him, Potter and Weasley each took an arm and helped her toward the cottage. Still clutching the sword, he helped the goblin up and followed the others toward shelter. He didn't know what else to do, didn't have anywhere else to go. The thought was terrifying, but he'd be damned if he crumbled now. All he needed was sleep, he could figure the rest out in the morning.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yup, Dobby survives! We'll see a little more of him later. Don't worry, Harry still convinces Griphook to help even without the burial scene. Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 will be up very soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your wonderful follows, favorites and reviews! I'm so glad that people are enjoying this story so far and it means the world to me. Plus it definitely provides plenty of motivation to keep writing when I'm feeling lazy or uninspired! You are all amazing and I hope you'll continue to share your thoughts with me as the story moves forward.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

To Draco's great surprise, no one questioned his presence among the weary group that had arrived at Shell Cottage—at least not at first. Fleur fussed over the goblin's legs, and for the first time he realized how badly the creature had been hurt. Since he'd already helped the goblin this far, he simply continued carrying him up the stairs and to a waiting bedroom. The creature introduced himself as Griphook to Fleur Weasley, and his little black eyes were sharp on her perfect face.

"You are not all human." This was not a question. Draco shot Fleur a look, unsure how she'd take this, but the woman only shook her head.

"My grandmuzzer was veela." She smiled, although he thought he could see some strain there behind it. "You 'ave a keen eye."

Griphook's only answer was a snort, and she fell silent as she tended to his legs. Draco shook his head a little and let himself out, making his way back toward the ground floor. He was in a small cottage with a house-elf, a goblin, a part-veela and the at least partially wolfish Weasley. In the space of an evening—less—his entire world had swept away from him and replaced with this group of misfits.

He might have felt a touch more comfortable if someone had challenged his presence here, but so far the only person with anything snide to say was the younger Weasley. The shoe had to drop at some point. They all knew who he was and who his parents were. His arrival with the The Boy Who Lived could only stall that conversation, not cancel it.

Granger had been stretched out on the couch in the small living room. Weasley was hovering over her, but she had turned her face away and closed her eyes. Potter was nowhere to be found. Bill had gone to settle in Ollivander, and Dobby was examining the sword of Gryffindor. Draco watched his former house-elf for a moment. He remembered how his father had raged after he'd inadvertently freed him, and of course he had heard how the elf now worshipped Potter. To be honest, he hadn't spared Dobby much of a thought before or after he'd been granted his freedom, but he had to admit that the small creature had been extraordinarily brave tonight when he'd broken into Malfoy Manor and freed prisoners right under his family's nose.

 _Merlin,_ he was tired. Perhaps that was why he was thinking such strange thoughts. The reality of his situation was starting to sink in, and the outlook wasn't optimal. He'd have to appeal to the Gryffindors' bleeding hearts because he was sure there would be no mercy from the Death Eaters. He'd attacked one of Voldemort's most fervent supporters: there was no way to hide what he'd done from the Dark Lord.

It was a claustrophobic feeling to put it mildly.

He stuck his hands into his pockets and realized he still had the three extra wands stashed there. With a long-suffering sigh, he walked up to Weasley and poked him hard in the shoulder.

"Go away." The redhead didn't even look at him. Draco's fingers curled into a fist, but he forced himself to be calm. He wouldn't help his situation by punching his host's youngest brother.

"Thought you'd like to be armed, but if you'd rather make yourself a sitting duck that's fine by me," he snapped, unable to keep himself from sneering. Honestly, this guy was a git—he couldn't understand what Granger saw in him.

The word 'armed' had caught Weasley's attention and he spun to face the other. "What do you mean? The Snatchers took our wands."

"Yeah, well, I took a few wands of my own." Draco pulled the three extras out of his pocket. "They'll work in a pinch. Where's Potter? I imagine the Chosen One would like first pick." He made the words _Chosen One_ sound like a slur. Weasley's face twisted a little.

"He's gone outside. He asked us not to follow. Said he had some things to work out."

Draco shrugged and made himself as comfortable as he could in an armchair. He looked at Granger, watching the way she curled into herself, her back to them all. Her hair was even more unruly than ever and there was an unforgiving tension in her spine. Though Weasley said her name a couple of times she didn't turn over and she made no sound other than her ragged breathing. After a few moments, that breathing turned into tiny, helpless sobs, but when Weasley bent over to comfort her she jerked away from his hands.

"Leave her be," Draco snapped, unable to keep it from sounding like the command it was. Weasley spun on him and he was suddenly glad that he hadn't just handed over a wand. If he had, the git would definitely be shooting a hex or two his way now.

"What are you even doing here?" he snapped, but Draco was saved from answering by Fleur's return. Both boys turned their attention to her as she floated across the room to see to Granger. The girl only sobbed harder as Fleur began to tend to her, and Draco turned his face away. Her cries were almost as bad as the screaming, and the bile had risen again. When would this miserable night be over?

* * *

He must have dozed off at some point, because the next time he opened his eyes it was nearly dawn. Potter was still nowhere to be seen, but Weasley had fallen asleep in the other armchair with his head tipped back over the top of it. His mouth was wide open and he was snoring. Draco stared for a moment, disgusted, and then he turned his attention to Granger.

She was having a nightmare. Her body was twisting and turning on the couch and strangled, terrified noises were coming from her throat. Without thinking—he was much too tired to think—he propelled himself out of his chair and across the room. He settled into a sitting position on the floor next to the couch and took her hand. That all too familiar sense of helplessness overwhelmed him again; he couldn't help but think that he didn't belong here. He wasn't the one that should be holding her hand, in fact he should be recoiling from the very idea of it—

But instead of disgust, there was only numbness and a growing dread of the dawn.

* * *

Hermione jerked into consciousness, her heart still throbbing from the terrible nightmare she'd been stuck in. Her whole body protested this abrupt return to the waking world and she let out a small groan. Only then did she realize that someone was holding her hand.

She turned her head, expecting to see Ron. He'd so badly wanted to comfort her, but for a little while she'd been beyond consolation. As fond of him as she was, his anxious hovering had nearly been too much for her to bear on top of everything else. She wished that weren't the case as she knew he only wanted to help her, but the feeling had persisted throughout the evening. It was a pleasant surprise then to wake up with her hand in his. For the first time since their escape, she felt soothed and a bit less fearful.

A bolt of lightning shot through her when she saw that it wasn't Ron holding her hand at all, but Draco Malfoy.

 _This can't possibly be real_ , she told herself. Malfoy would never deign her worthy of his touch, not without wiping his hands clean afterward. He'd never shown the least bit of concern for her before now. And yet his grip on her was firm, almost tender. It was as if their clasped hands were a comfort to him as well as her.

Every muscle in his back and shoulders was slightly rigid, making his skin look as though it had been carved from cold white marble. He appeared to be asleep or at least dozing, but even while he was in this state of rest she could see the tension in his features.

She shut her eyes again. There were too many things she needed to process, she was much too hurt to deal with this as well. A sudden burst of compassion for (and perhaps even _from_ ) Draco Malfoy was more than she thought she could handle at the moment. She'd just let herself go back to sleep and tell herself it was just another dream; it was easier that way. It made more sense. As she tried to convince herself of this, unconsciousness crept over her again.

This time, there were no nightmares.

* * *

Potter returned with the rising sun. His face was pale and drawn and it was clear he'd been awake through the long hours of the night. When he entered the cottage, they were all waiting for him save the goblin and Ollivander. Thanks to Fleur's ministrations, even Granger was sitting up and waiting to hear what their next move was. Like it or not, Draco too was going to have to follow their lead. He fought to keep himself from looking disdainful about this development, although he probably wasn't entirely successful in that endeavor.

"I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander," Potter said, and though Fleur protested that neither patient would be up for meaningful discourse just yet, he remained firm. Nor did he tell his hosts why it was so important that he speak to them with such haste. He had the air of a man who had finally made a hard decision, and in spite of his general dislike for and envy of Potter, Draco found himself intrigued.

And a little disgusted, because of course Potter, Weasley and Granger were on an extremely secret mission from Dumbledore. Even dead, the old coot was moving them like pawns across an invisible chessboard.

Still, pawns didn't get to decide that they no longer wanted to play the game, so when Bill finally agreed to Potter's demands and the three of them began heading upstairs to talk to the goblin, Draco made to follow them.

Weasley gave him a small push and shook his head, barring any further progress up the stairs.

"I didn't even tell my brother what we're up to." He seemed to be taking no small delight in excluding their old rival. "You're not coming up."

Draco's fists curled. "Listen Weasel, I don't have anywhere else to go. You throw me out of your little clubhouse now, you might as well kill me yourself."

Potter was staring at him, his eyes oddly emotionless. "We don't have time for this, Malfoy."

"You could use me." _Merlin,_ he hated that desperate note in his voice, but it was necessary. There was nowhere to go but forward, even they had to realize that.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but we can't trust you. One finger on that Dark Mark and we'd all be done for. I can't take that risk."

His temper got the better of him at last. "I saved Granger, did you forget that? I attacked _Bellatrix Lestrange_ to get her out of there, I brought you your stupid sword, and I've almost certainly killed my parents in order to do so. The die is cast, isn't that what your precious Muggles say?"

"Harry…" Granger's voice was hesitant. "Harry, I think we've got to let him come."

"Hermione—!" Weasley's voice was full of betrayal.

"No, think about it: if he goes back to the Death Eaters, they'll kill him. Even if he tries to turn us over to Vo—to the Dark Lord, they'll have to wonder if it's a trick since he's already escaped with us once. He could tie a bow around Harry and leave him at the Dark Lord's feet and he'd still likely be killed for betraying their side in the first place. After all, Bellatrix already had us at her disposal and it was only with his help that we all got free. And he's right: he left his parents behind and they're probably dead or at least being tortured. Why would he choose his parents' murderers over us?"

"Hermione, I know he got you out of Malfoy Manor, but he's a Death Eater. We didn't even tell other Order members what we're doing," Weasley said, taking her hand. "Harry and I would have gotten you out, too. We would have found a way."

The heel of Potter's palm had come up to his forehead, pressing down on his scar. He was wincing. "We don't have time for this. Malfoy, wait downstairs. We'll come down and decide what to do after we've talked to Griphook and Ollivander."

Draco's lips twisted bitterly. "Killing my parents wasn't enough for you, eh Potter?"

" _Please,_ " Potter replied, this time making it sound a little less than a command. "Please wait downstairs. We'll be done soon and then all four of us can decide what comes next." And with that and one last look at Weasley to stop further protests, he turned and went up to the next floor. Weasley followed, looking perturbed, but Granger pulled her hand free from his and hesitated on the stairs. She looked at Draco, her lip caught between her teeth.

"Don't worry," she said. "And…and—thank you."

He was startled. He hadn't expected her to thank him, not after all the years of abuse he'd hurled at her. He dropped his gaze and waved a hand, trying to downplay the effect those simple words had on him. When had he gotten so frustratingly emotional?

"Don't make me wait down here too long, Granger," was all he said in response, and she turned and followed her friends. He didn't quite manage to stop himself from watching her go.

* * *

 **A/N:** _"Alea iacta est,"_ or "The die is cast," is what Julius Caesar is claimed to have said as he crossed the Rubicon to march on Rome, implying that he'd come too far to turn back now. This was officially an act of treason and started a civil war, which Caesar went on to win.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I wanted to say thank you for everyone who favorited or followed the story. I do notice favorites/follows and I'm happy that so many people are enjoying this story enough to stay updated with it, so thank you very much! And to my reviewers, reading about your thoughts on the story and receiving your words of encouragement is a real privilege. You all keep my going, even when the words are hard to come by. I hope you enjoy this next chapter as well!

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

The wait for the trio was interminable. Draco found himself seated at the dining table in Shell Cottage, surrounded by Bill and Fleur Weasley, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood and Dobby the house elf. It was the most intimate setting he'd ever been in with such mixed company, and though he knew he should be disgusted all he really felt was impatience. He didn't especially appreciate being kept in the dark and he couldn't seem to keep the scowl off his face as he waited for others to decide his fate. _Again,_ he added with venom.

He really was growing tired of that. The only time he'd been his own man—his sole, shining moment of independent thought and action—had been his rescue of Granger and the goblin. Everything else in his life had been scripted, his psyche molded from birth so that he was his father's perfect puppet. The weight of it all was crushing him, especially now that he was trapped between two sides of an inevitable war.

He shook himself out of his own grim thoughts and glanced up to find that Bill Weasley's eyes were on his face. His expression was entirely too perceptive for Draco's comfort. He'd never thought of the Weasleys as particularly sharp but there was something all too knowing in Bill's gaze and Draco turned his face away, furious at the flush that he was sure was coloring his cheeks.

He felt entirely too exposed here.

Fleur was keeping a stream of polite conversation going with the others around the table. She seemed particularly enchanted by Lovegood, cooing over her pretty hair and giggling in delight at the girl's odd commentary. Dean Thomas was telling Dobby about how the Snatchers that had captured him had also grabbed Potter, Weasley and Granger. To hear the Gryffindor tell it, he'd put up a fantastic fight before Greyback himself had subdued him, and Draco resisted the urge to cut in with the observation that Greyback's idea of subduing people was tearing out their throats, full moon or no.

Finally, _finally,_ the trio walked in. Potter looked pale, Weasley looked frustrated and Granger's brow was furrowed as though she was thinking of something very troubling. Draco swallowed his nasty comment about Thomas' exaggerations and sat at attention. He was more than ready for some answers and he wasn't about to let them shrug him off again.

He stood before the three of them could get comfortable. He shot Potter a significant look and received a resigned nod in response. Bill, now watching all four of them, got up to show them to a private room. They followed him silently and Granger thanked him quietly as he left them in a sunlit little parlor that looked over the sea and was full of comfortable chairs and bookshelves. Draco could tell by the way Granger's eyes softened as she took in their surroundings that this was her idea of heaven, but they went sad again and he thought it was a fair guess that she was remembering the circumstances of this visit.

Weasley flopped himself into a chair and crossed his arms, waiting with a stormy look for Potter to decide how much he was going to reveal to their old nemesis. Once again, Draco found himself fighting back the urge to make a snide comment. With all this tongue-biting, he was surprised he hadn't drawn blood.

Granger sank into a chair with a little more decorum, but she was pale and whatever pain potion Fleur had given her was clearly wearing off. He glanced at her arm and a small wave of nausea hit him when he spotted the last few letters of _Mudblood_ peeking out from the end of her sleeve. The wounds were an angry, livid red against her skin and he moved his eyes away quickly. His gaze found Potter's, and he was again confronted with a strangely sharp look.

"I'm going against _all_ of my better judgement here," Potter said. "Nobody knows what we're up to, not Ron's family, not Hermione's, none of the rest of the Order. Dumbledore was very clear that we were to confide in no one."

"Yes, well, the best laid plans of mice and men," was Draco's only—somewhat unnecessarily sarcastic—response, and both Potter and Granger look surprised at the Muggle reference. Weasley shot Granger a questioning look but she gave a small headshake as if to tell him she'd explain later.

"We've taken extreme precautions to protect our mission. Ron's entire family is in hiding and Hermione modified her parents' memories so that they don't remember her. At all."

"Are we comparing sacrifices, Potter?" Draco asked, his tone savage as he thought of his wandless father, of his mother attacking Bellatrix on his behalf. Nausea churned in his stomach again at the thought of them at his aunt's mercy. "Because I think I've demonstrated plenty of loyalty on that front."

"That's the problem." Potter's eyes were narrowed on his face, searching. "I can't understand why you did what you did back at the Manor. I've gone over it and I can't think of a single reason you'd help us—"

Draco grit his teeth as his eyes flicked to Granger's face, then to the slur carved into her arm, and then they turned resolutely to the floor. How could he explain that it had all gotten a little too real a little too fast? That he was and would probably never be a good guy, but there were some lines even he was reluctant to cross? That as well as being infuriated by Granger's superior skill at school, he'd also come to grudgingly respect her?

He forced himself to meet Potter's gaze again and said the only words he could find.

"It was wrong. It was all wrong." He hated the way his voice cracked, hated how choked he sounded, hated how he couldn't keep himself from looking over at Granger again. She was staring back at him with wide eyes, her face bloodless and stricken, and he nearly couldn't bear the weight of her gaze.

Potter tilted his head, something unreadable flickering across his eyes as he considered Draco. He looked at Weasley and then Granger, and while Weasley looked thoughtful but unconvinced, Granger looked almost…moved? She turned her face away from them all and stared out of the window while her teeth worried at her lower lip.

"I'm a bad guy, Potter. I know that. But that bastard brought the war into my _home._ I feel no loyalty to him and I'd rather be dead than see him win the war. I'm not brave and _yes_ , I'm trying to save myself. But…there's also…after everything I've seen and everything they convinced me to do, I just…I can't stand by and ignore it anymore." He and Potter stared at each other, and finally the rage that Draco had been feeling for the past two years was there, burning in him and steadying his voice. "I hope you kill him. I want to help you kill him."

That seemed to decide the matter.

"I think we'd better tell him everything," Potter said. Weasley sucked in a huge breath of air and let it out slowly.

"I don't like it but…I trust you. Dumbledore told you more than he told any of us so it's your call, mate."

"Hermione?" Potter asked.

She didn't look away from the ocean. "I think you're right, Harry. I don't think he has a safe place to go, and I believe he means what he says."

"Right." Potter seemed to be wrestling with a final burst of reluctance, but he pointed to a chair. "You better sit down, this is going to take a while. What do you know about Horcruxes?"

* * *

Blimey, Potter hadn't been kidding: Draco had been sitting for so long that his feet were falling asleep, and he was still trying to process all of the details when the other dropped the biggest bombshell of the day.

"You're going to _break into Gringotts?_ Have you gone _completely_ mental _?_ " he asked, shock flooding through him as Potter finally revealed the next step in their crusade to destroy Voldemort once and for all.

" _We're_ going to break into Gringotts, yes," Potter agreed, putting a hard emphasis on the 'we.' "We don't have a choice, but we might be in luck. I think I've convinced Griphook to help us."

"Oh, right, well in that case it should be a cinch." Draco rolled his eyes and in spite of himself, Weasley let out a dark chuckle.

"Still keen on coming with us?" he asked.

"This is the only way?"

"Yes," Potter answered. "If we don't destroy all of the Horcruxes, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can't be killed."

"Then yes," Draco said, turning to look at Weasley. "I'm still keen. I think you're all bloody mad, but I'm still keen."

Weasley watched him for a moment, perhaps surprised by his response, and then nodded.

"Good. That's settled." Granger had been silent for much of the exchange, and now they could all see how her lips were tight with suppressed pain. "Do you mind if we get some tea now? And I'd better ask Fleur for more potion."

Potter and Weasley both jumped to their feet to help her up and then all four of them headed back to the cottage's tiny kitchen. As Dobby cheerfully went about fetching tea for everyone and Fleur measured out some painkilling potion for Granger, Draco took a seat. He had removed himself a little from the group, feeling—as he suspected he always would—that he wasn't really a part of it. To his surprise, however, Granger sat down next to him.

"When Harry asked you about Horcruxes, you said you knew what they were," she said. He nodded, cautious. Had he made a mistake, trampled on their goody-two-shoes sensibilities again? But there was nothing accusatory about her tone; rather, she seemed genuinely curious.

"How did you know what they were?"

"I read about them," Draco replied. He smirked a little at her surprise. "Before you came along, I was best in my year, you know. My mother used to despair of keeping up with my reading habit."

That seemed to surprise her, and she paused as she considered it. Then she tilted her head. "I looked and looked for a book that talked about them, but I never found one. At least not at Hogwarts—not even in the restricted section!"

"Probably down to Dumbledore," Draco mused. "But the library at the Manor is considerably more extensive. And there were…" He hesitated, dropping his gaze. "There were a lot of books about dark magic. Old ones. My father was always fascinated…"

He broke off awkwardly. "Anyway, they weren't all about the dark arts. We had plenty of poetry, philosophy, and my mother adores novels…"

Granger made a soft, amused sound, as though she was trying to picture Narcissa Malfoy enjoying a good old bodice-ripper, and he looked up with a wry smile of his own. That was when it struck him that this was most civil bit of conversation they'd ever had.

"You'd like it, I think," he said softly.

"What?"

"Our library."

"It does sound lovely," she agreed. She seemed to sense that this was a small olive branch, the first of what would be many attempts to cooperate. He was grateful that he didn't have to express himself out loud in this case. "I'd better go drink that potion Fleur's poured for me."

He nodded and she got up and walked away. He didn't know that he would be as civil as she was if he'd been in her position, and he found himself feeling absurdly grateful toward her. He watched as she took a glass from Fleur, a small smile of thanks curving her lips, and wondered why he wasn't more bothered by his own lack of disgust.

Then he looked away and realized that their exchange hadn't gone unnoticed. Weasley was staring at him, looking oddly pale beneath all of those ridiculous freckles. That was when the feeling of claustrophobia overwhelmed Draco again, and he excused himself and made his way quickly outside.

He settled in the garden, picking a spot where he could gaze over the sea. Far below him, the waves smashed into the cliff face again and again. The sound was soothing and helped ease the turmoil inside of him. He wondered if he would ever find his own place all of this. At the moment, he didn't feel like he belonged anywhere, with anyone, and the fact that no one seemed to notice his absence inside only confirmed that.

 _Forgive me,_ he thought, but he wasn't sure which woman he was silently asking forgiveness from: his mother, or Hermione Granger?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry this took a little longer. There was a lot of ground to cover story-wise and weekends are a little busy for me, but here it is! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Now that Potter had finished skulking outside, Draco had passed out the extra wands he'd plucked from Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix and Greyback during their escape from Malfoy Manor. With everyone armed once more, it was time to consider how they were going to rob the most heavily guarded wizarding bank in the world.

Unsurprisingly, their plans for how to break into Gringotts stalled almost immediately. Griphook would accept nothing but the sword of Gryffindor as payment for his help, and as they had no hope of getting into the Lestranges' vault without him, Potter had been forced to agree to his terms.

Draco (and as it turned out later, Bill Weasley) had warned him not to try anything sneaky with the goblin, but his advice had been ignored; no mention of when Griphook could have the sword was made. That was likely going to be a problem later, but he didn't have any better ideas and neither had anyone else.

Time was of the essence, but brainstorming illegal activities in Shell Cottage presented a bit of a challenge. Dobby had disappeared with Ollivander just a few days after they'd arrived, but Lovegood and Thomas were staying at the cottage for the time being and the cramped living quarters made keeping secrets difficult. Granger had similar concerns about being overheard. The next morning, after the five of them had gathered in Griphook's room to begin another day's plans, Granger paused near the closed door and began to perform a charm Draco had never heard of.

 _"Muffliato,"_ she murmured, finishing the charm with a tidy flourish.

"What's that do?" he asked, and when she'd explained about it muffling their conversation and causing anyone outside of the room to experience a strange sort of buzzing in their ears if they got too close, he smirked. For once, he knew something about spellcasting she didn't.

"There are other silencing spells," he told her, pulling out his own wand. He began to show her a charm he'd learned long ago, one that wouldn't let any sounds escape the confines of his room (he'd gotten very good at it over summer breaks, much to his parents' exasperation), but he'd barely opened his mouth when Weasley cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Maybe we could stow the lessons for now, eh?" he muttered with a significant look to Granger. She flushed with suppressed annoyance and shoved her wand away, taking her place near Griphook's bed. Draco rolled his eyes and finished his silencing charm before standing at the foot of the bed. Perhaps Weasley was right and this wasn't the time or place for a quick charms tutorial, but Merlin knew the redhead was never going to be a diplomat. Potter, Draco noticed, said nothing. His attention was wholly focused on the goblin.

Time passed quickly after that.

They all ignored the looks of concern they received from Bill and Fleur Weasley. While no one could argue that Narcissa Malfoy loved her son and would flay the skin from anyone that dared hurt him, this was a sort of intimacy Draco had never personally encountered. These people had all known and loved each other for years, even Potter and Granger seemed to be accepted members of the family. Loony Lovegood had her place too, for all of her strange observations and odd bits of jewelry. Dean had shared a dorm with Potter and Weasley for years, and that meant the only outcasts in their merry little band of misfits were Draco and Griphook.

It was somewhat annoying to be lumped with the goblin.

At meals—which were really the only times they emerged from the goblin's bedroom—he watched as everyone interacted around him, their conversation laced with old jokes and private references. Draco decided he was fine with merely observing, trying his best to soothe his own ruffled feathers at the exclusion. His parents had certainly always been proud and loving, but they were aristocrats to the core and so there had always been a certain aloofness in their dealings with each other. There were very clear boundaries and expectations in his life and he'd been meticulously groomed for them from a very young age.

He wasn't jealous of this little family circle, not precisely, but mealtimes tended to underline how alone he was. It was only when he saw how wistfully Granger watched the Weasley brothers interacting with Potter that he realized he wasn't the only one that was feeling a bit left out.

How could that be possible? She'd been with Potter almost as long as Weasley had, and it was his impression that the pair of them had been practically adopted by the tribe of redheaded Gryffindors back in their first year. Surely she was as much a part of the family as Scar Head? Draco observed them even more closely and came to a couple of conclusions. First, like him and Loony and even Potter himself, she was an only child and had probably longed for a big family all her life. Second, she might be best friends with Potter and Weasley, but she was the only girl and she hadn't bonded with either boy in the same way that they'd bonded with each other. Third, something had happened before they'd been imprisoned at Malfoy Manor, something that had changed their dynamic in a small but significant way.

Had it been the torture? Something told Draco that no, whatever had caused this divide in the trio had already existed by then. Whatever emotional fallout the torture would cause was only just starting to rear its head, but Granger's nearly imperceptible dissociation was already established.

 _Curiouser and curiouser,_ he thought during an unguarded moment, and then he gave himself a sharp mental slap. Why should he care? He dropped his eyes back to his plate and kept them there, and he worked harder to embrace his isolation from this band of star-crossed heroes.

Apart from their meals, the only other interruption to their relentless Gringotts preparations was a visit from Remus Lupin. Draco hadn't seen the man since he'd taught their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and he only got a quick look at him now, still shabby and disheveled but a little less gaunt, before Potter asked him to entertain himself in a different part of the cottage for a little while.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry about this." The look on Potter's face spoke volumes about how hard it was for him to apologize to his childhood nemesis for anything. "I'm sure Lupin won't stay long."

"Right." Draco's mouth twisted. He wasn't used to people being embarrassed of him. Then he thought of the ugly, twisted Mark on his arm and decided he would probably have to get used to it.

"I'll come get you when he's gone."

Draco slinked away and waited. A muffled cheer told him that at least the flea-bitten werewolf hadn't brought bad news.

* * *

Though the broad details had been decided for weeks, Draco had never protested out loud to the part of the plan that had Granger disguising herself as his aunt. In spite of his silence, the idea didn't sit well with him. He'd tried not to think about it very much as the days went by, and then suddenly it was too late to protest because the time to act had arrived. He suppressed a shudder as Bellatrix Lestrange strode across the lawn toward them in the pre-dawn light, Griphook following closely at her heels. Finding one of Bellatrix's hairs on Granger's jumper had been a stroke of luck, or at least that's what Potter had seemed to think. Personally, Draco wondered if slipping into the skin of your torturer would leave lasting psychological effects.

He sighed. He was growing tired of reminding himself that he didn't care.

Granger began transforming Weasley's features, giving him waspish looks as he made requests about his new appearance. Beside him, Potter fidgeted with the invisibility cloak that Granger had pulled out of the beaded bag she wore around her neck. Draco eyed it and tried not to think about how long he and Potter were going to have to huddle underneath it with the goblin. He was really, really starting to hate this plan.

After a few minutes, Weasley's disguise had been completed and Draco ducked under the cloak with Potter, glad that the goblin had picked the Boy Who Lived to latch onto rather than himself. They'd have to shuffle along carefully to keep from exposing their feet, but they were completely hidden.

"Alright," Weasley said, trying and not quite managing to master the nervy quality of his voice, "we'd better get on with it."

They moved past the protective barrier of the _Fidelius_ charm and a second later, they'd disappeared entirely.

* * *

Draco had thought they were sunk when Travers had recognized him. He'd thought they were sunk when the Gringotts goblins seemed suspicious, and he'd really thought they were sunk as he and Potter cast quick _Imperius_ curses on both Travers and the goblin Bogrod to avoid outright detection. If a plan had ever gone more spectacularly awry, he'd never heard of it.

Then he figured they were doomed when they'd hurtled through the Thief's Downfall and were thrown from the mining cart they'd all climbed into. Only Granger's quick casting of a Cushioning Charm had saved them from a rather horrid end.

But he knew without a doubt that they were doomed when he saw the half-blind dragon between them and the last of the Gringott's vaults.

Merlin's beard, this was a terrible plan.

Painful, fiery death did not befall them as they slipped past the dragon using Clankers, but Draco saw how scarred the old beast was and he heard Granger make a small, horrified noise as she realized how violently the goblins had managed to keep it under control. He and Potter tugged her forward as Bogrod place his hand on the Lestrange's vault door. The six of them stepped through the doorway and the barrier immediately resurrected itself behind them.

"No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us!" Griphook assured them as the humans all spun around in shock.

"We've got to hurry," Potter agreed as the four of them lit their wands. "And we'd better hope it's the goblet and not something else, or else we'll spend too long searching through all this."

Draco said nothing. He wasn't even all that surprised when the treasure in the vault started making molten copies of itself any time one of them brushed against something. He'd stopped expecting things to go smoothly the second they'd stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron.

As everyone else set about searching for Hufflepuff's fancy cup, Draco's eyes traced over the myriad of precious items that the Lestranges had… _collected_ over the years. There was one thing he'd wanted, one thing he knew was here. A diamond and emerald necklace his mother had worn when he was a child, one of the things that had been passed down to Bellatrix from their mother. Narcissa had taken possession of that particular Black family heirloom when her sister had gone to Azkaban, but Bellatrix had demanded its return when she'd escaped.

He wanted that necklace. After all, his mother was quite fond of it, and if his aunt ever spotted it on Narcissa's neck, she'd know how far he'd gotten, how deeply she'd been betrayed. He wanted to see the look on her face with a savagery that surprised him. Then he wanted to kill her.

As the tide of super-heated metal rose around him, burning his legs and making the search seem impossible, he finally spotted it.

"This is going to hurt," he muttered, and gritting his teeth, he seized the necklace. It seared into his palm and duplicates exploded from his fist, but he didn't let it go. He shoved it in his pocket, and on impulse grabbed the emerald ring that had been next to it.

No sooner had he shoved his second prize into his pocket than Griphook took the opportunity for betrayal. The goblin had snatched the sword—and very nearly the Hufflepuff's goblet with it—and slid his way down the growing mountain of white-hot treasure, escaping as a horde of Gringotts goblins arrived and opened the vault's door. He was screaming an alarm, not that he needed to as the intruders had already been found. In the chaos, Draco's eyes shot to Potter and he saw with a surge of relief that the other had managed to seize the goblet.

They all tumbled out of the vault, covered in burns and already shouting, _"Stupefy!"_ as they got to their feet. The dragon, infuriated at this disturbance, spewed flame over the goblin guards, adding to the confusion, and in the midst of this Potter set the giant beast free.

"This way!" he yelled as he climbed onto the dragon's back, ignoring Granger's sputtering protests.

"This is the stupidest—the worst—I fucking hate this plan, Potter!" Draco yelled back, shoving Weasley up after Potter and then reaching down to grasp Granger and haul her up alongside him. After that, there was so much stone and flame and chaos that it was hard to do anything but cling onto the dragon's scales as it ripped and burned its way to freedom and the clear blue sky.

* * *

 **A/N:** Just wanted to touch real quick on some things I mentioned in the chapter. First, _Muffliato:_ in the movies, this spell is part of the curriculum (at least I think so, as it's on a list of tested material in the movie version of _Order of the Phoenix_ ), but I decided to go with the books and have Harry learn it from Snape's old textbook. That means this spell would probably not be familiar to Draco.

Second, the separation Draco notices between Hermione and Ron in particular comes from Ron leaving her and Harry while they searched for a way to destroy the locket. All has been forgiven between the three but I imagine that this abandonment has some lasting effects.

Finally: I'm not trying to vilify Ron just because I'm pairing Hermione with someone else. I actually like Ron's character in the books…but since this story is primarily from Draco's POV, some derision (at least early on) can't be avoided. As the two get used to each other, I promise Draco won't be quite so waspish…but they're probably not going to become pals.

If you have any other questions, feel free to send me an ask on Tumblr ( **xxsummersirenxx** )! And as always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for your patience and continued support! It means the world to me! Also, I post little previews of chapters/stories on Tumblr, just for fun! I like to show that I'm still hard at work writing in the days between updates here. It's also the best place to ask questions as I usually hop on there at least once a day. Also, I'm very much in debt to **Frogster** for catching all of my silly mistakes! Thank you!

This is a slow chapter but I thought it would be nice to switch to Hermione's POV for a little while. Events pick up again in the next chapter, promise. Please enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

The huge wings beat hard as the dragon clawed its way higher and higher into the sky. Up and up and up until they were plunging through wispy clouds. Hermione clutched at the scales beneath her, tears streaming from her eyes as London dropped away. Fear—pure terror, in fact—helped her keep her grip as her hands and legs began to ache with the strain.

To her left, close to her ear, someone started laughing, an exhilarated whooping laugh of joy and disbelief. Clearly one of her companions had gone absolutely _bonkers._ Though she'd squeezed her eyes shut in panic, she managed a quick peek to see which one of the boys was laughing. Ron, probably; he loved thrills. Perhaps that was a side-effect of growing up with Fred and George Weasley.

But it wasn't Ron laughing, or Harry. It was _Malfoy._

She stared, her astonishment leaking through her terror for a moment. In all of their years at Hogwarts, she didn't think she'd ever seen him like this. For once, all the haughty smugness, all of the sneers, all of the terror and worry were gone. He was just a boy, laughing at the sheer improbability of their predicament. His face was wide open, shining with the joy of being so high on the back of a dragon.

"You're mad," she groaned, trying to plaster herself even tighter to the beast's back. His only response was a quick glance her way with dancing grey eyes. He didn't even bother to sneer at her obvious dread. She would remember later how handsome he was that way, all scratched and burned and disheveled, all filled with a childish exhilaration. It was a thought that would stun her more than anyone, though it wouldn't occur to her for a while. For now, she was too scared to think much of anything. For now, all she could do was hope that soon—very, _very_ soon—the dragon would land and they could somehow get away.

Her hopes weren't granted. They flew on and on, and when the dragon needed to rest they coasted on thermals. The wings made subtle cracking sounds as they filled with the updrafts, reminding her of boat sails. Eventually, she managed to set aside her fear for a brief moment and examine those wings and how, with the barest flick of a muscle, they were redirected. She wondered how the dragon was navigating, or what it was searching for. Could it smell whatever it was it wanted, even from all the way up here? Or was it operating on pure instinct?

There was so much she didn't know yet.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" she heard Ron yell, echoing her thoughts.

"No idea!" Harry's knuckles were white with cold and the strain of keeping himself anchored to the dragon's back. He glanced toward the sun, which had definitely slipped lower in the sky on this insane journey. Then he chanced a glance down. Hermione doubted he'd spot a recognizable landmark from way up here: everything below was patchwork, and they were moving north so quickly.

Malfoy's laughter had died down a while ago, and while he too was holding tight to the animal beneath him, the wild ride and the terrifying heights didn't seem to bother him very much. He also glanced down and then shrugged when he saw nothing he recognized.

"We'd better hope this thing doesn't take us out over the ocean!" he yelled. Hermione groaned as her stomach gave a sickening lurch. He shot her an amused glance and she stuck her tongue out at him, not daring to raise her hand to flash him a 'V.' The pureblood prat probably wouldn't understand what it meant anyway.

They flew on in silence for a while longer as the sun dropped toward the horizon. Finally, when Hermione was beginning to think she'd be permanently frozen to the dragon's scales, Ron noticed a drop in their altitude. He had watched her with sympathy, knowing how much she hated flying in any fashion but unable to comfort her from his own precarious perch. He flashed her a hopeful smile and she tried to return it, although it lacked any sort of conviction. Terror and cold had sapped any happy feelings out of her, although the churning in her stomach did seem to lessen at his pronouncement.

A moment later, he was proven correct as the dragon began to spiral gently down toward the lakes below. Huge circles became tighter and tighter until they were clearly headed for the smallest lake. The great beast was thirsty at last. Hermione could have cried with relief. That is, until she heard Harry's next suggestion.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" he yelled. "Straight into the water before it realizes we're here and it's hungry!"

Ron and Malfoy shouted their agreement, but Hermione lost her voice entirely. _Jump?_ Off of the back of a _dragon?_ All of them twisted to look at her and she must have managed some sort of agreement to this absolutely lunatic plan, but as they dropped closer to the water she doubted very much she'd be able to do it. Lower—they were a rushing shadow over the surface of the water. Lower—they were a yellowish blur on the waves. Lower—they could make out the reflection of the dragon's belly scales as its wings adjusted to slow it down.

"NOW" Harry bellowed, and he and Ron slipped over opposite sides of the dragon and plunged into the lake below. Hermione watched them hit the surface and disappear, their splashes already far behind as the dragon dipped its head low to drink. She struggled to release her grip, to follow her friends, but her limbs were slow to obey. She managed to get one hand off of the dragon's back when Malfoy grasped her other arm. Holding it in an iron grip, he pulled them both off of the dragon and into the lake below.

* * *

"Merlin, Granger, what were you waiting for?" Malfoy snapped after she'd surfaced and began sucking in huge gasps of air. "Or did you fancy becoming that great worm's lunch?"

"I was doing just fine on my own!" she shouted back, furious with herself for allowing him to see how scared she'd been up there. "What were _you_ waiting for?!"

"Call me crazy, but after saving you once I didn't much fancy watching you wreck all my hard work by getting killed a few weeks later!" He was glaring at her, looking for all the world like an angry, half-drowned cat as he bobbed in the lake's gentle waves.

"Oh, stuff it, would you?" she retorted, splashing him a little to vent her frustration. She didn't have the energy to have a shouting match with him. It was, after all, quite a long swim to shore. He growled and splashed her back before setting off with long, perfect breast strokes. Harry and Ron were already nearly to the shore themselves, and steeling herself against her exhaustion, Hermione followed their lead.

As she got close, Ron slogged back into the water to help her the last few feet. She was grateful for it: the reeds and mud were sapping the last of her strength quickly. He gave her hand a squeeze as they trudged onto the sandy beach and she offered him a little smile of thanks. He was a good friend and for so long they'd lingered on the edges of something more, but…though she'd been euphoric at his return, she wasn't sure she'd completely forgiven him for leaving her and Harry with the locket yet.

She didn't know why she couldn't let it go, but she was hoping she'd be able to soon. In the meantime, she was wary of giving him any encouragement that her feelings were more than what they were. They had too many other worries. Though she knew she should snatch whatever sweetness was left in these dark days, she just couldn't bring herself to lead Ron on when she wasn't sure how she felt herself.

He watched her for a second, always more perceptive than people gave him credit for, and then he gently released her hand. She saw his eyes flit to Malfoy, and then he took his place at Harry's side. Harry, meanwhile, was casting the normal protective spells they always weaved, sounding as though he'd love nothing more than to collapse and sleep.

While Harry busied himself with their protective spells, Hermione rummaged through her little beaded bag and produced a small bottle of essence of dittany. All four of them were the worse for wear after their escape from Gringotts and they took turns dabbing the dittany on various wounds and burns. Next came pumpkin juice and fresh clothes. All of them were absorbing the events that had just transpired, not least of which was the loss of Gryffindor's sword. Hufflepuff's goblet seemed to mock them for the loss; without that blade, it was all but invincible for the time being. After only recently being rid of the locket, the idea of hauling around the cup was depressing.

Worse, the fact that Voldemort would soon know exactly what they were up to was also sinking in. There was no way a break-in like _that_ would escape notice, perhaps even now the Dark Lord was discovering that the Lestrange vault had been robbed and that they'd run for it on the back of a dragon—

Hermione shook those thoughts away. There was nothing they could do about that now. Instead, desperate for a way to distract herself, she unpacked the tent and pitched it right there on the beach. She and the others crawled inside and Ron groaned in appreciation as the warmth began to seep into his frozen limbs. This tent wasn't as big as their last one, but it smelled better and had touches of Fleur's refined tastes. Harry sank right onto the thick carpets covering the floor and Ron pitched himself onto a reclining chair that looked as though it had been a favorite of Bill's. Though there was a separate (and beautiful) bedroom off of the living room and it was clear that all three boys expected her to avail herself of it, Hermione found she didn't want to be alone. Instead she dragged out the pillows and blankets, passed them out, and curled up on the couch. Harry had lit a fire in the fireplace, scooting closer as its warmth permeated the small space. Malfoy hesitated, casting a somewhat longing glance at the bedroom where there was no doubt a bed, but then he settled into the carpets with a sheet.

They all desperately needed the rest.

Hermione didn't remember falling asleep. All she remembered was the feeling of absolute despair, as if someone was ripping her apart but slowly, and she knew she was doomed and so were the people she loved but she was helpless to stop it—she couldn't even get enough breath to scream—

Her eyes snapped open as she jerked into a sitting position. Her chest was heaving and there were tears on her cheeks. Ron and Harry were also tossing and turning, lost in their own dreams, and she was grateful she hadn't been loud enough to wake them. She didn't want to worry them, didn't want them to think she was cracking at the seams...that this was all too much...

"How long?" a drawling voice asked, and her eyes shot down to the source. Malfoy was stretched out on the ground, his hands tucked behind his bed as he considered the faux ceiling above him.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"The nightmares. How long have they been back?"

Her cheeks went rosy in the flickering firelight. "They never left."

He nodded, still not looking at her. "I'd thought, perhaps, that they'd abated while we were at the cottage. Lovegood never mentioned them."

"I asked her not to." She pulled her blankets closer, waiting for a sneer or a snide comment. Malfoy just nodded again, considering her answer silently. His eyes were half-lidded and tired. He hadn't slept much either, if at all.

"Is it...are you dreaming of...?" His voice faltered.

"The drawing room," she confirmed, and he looked at her at last. "And...well, pretending to be Bellatrix didn't help."

"'I'm sorry' doesn't seem adequate," he murmured, and though his tone was light she could see the guilty suffering in his gaze.

"It isn't. Not really."

He nodded again and turned his eyes away once more, but she reached out and touched his elbow.

"Thank you anyway."

The silence stretched between them after that, both still a little wary of their unexpected truce. Both of them needed sleep, they were rapidly running out of time on this Horcrux hunt and Hermione expected that when they left this tent in the morning, it would be a long time before they could rest again.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said suddenly, apparently having decided he needed to say the words in spite of their inadequacy. His voice was low and broken, and shocked by the open emotion in it, she looked at him. His face was twisted with regret. "I'm sorry for tormenting you in school. I'm sorry for calling you...well, you know what I called you."

"Malfoy..." She didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell him it was okay because it _wasn't_ , it wasn't okay by a long shot, but she didn't want to spurn his apologies either.

"I mean it. I'm sorry."

She hesitated. "I know you mean it. Thank you for saying it."

He snorted. "Words. From me they mean less than nothing."

He turned away from her and she rolled on her back and closed her eyes. "But they aren't just words, are they? You got me out of the Manor."

He let out a long breath and didn't reply. Silence fell, and then stretched, and the exhaustion crept up over her. She went to sleep with the distinct impression that he didn't feel rescuing her was apology enough.

* * *

All three of them were rudely yanked from slumber when Harry began shouting barely two hours later. He was rolling around on the floor, gripping his head, and no amount of shaking could rouse him. They could only watch, pale and frightened, as he endured the painful trance.

When Harry finally came to, he was the bearer of the worst possible news: Voldemort knew they were after his Horcruxes and if they didn't act quickly, the one that was hidden in Hogwarts was likely going to be moved out of their grasp. Ron and Harry exchanged a dark look and Hermione felt as if a cold hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. Malfoy reacted even worse than she did to the announcement that they needed to get to Hogwarts _right now._

"You're having a laugh **,"** he said in a very dangerous, flat tone. "At least, you'd better be having a laugh."

"I'm not," Harry replied. His face might have been carved in stone. His normally bright green eyes were dull and exhausted, but determined. "If he moves it out of Hogwarts, we may never find it again."

"You found the others."

"Actually, all three of them had already been found. And I still don't have any idea what the last one _is._ Come on, Malfoy. We're wasting time."

"You're going to get us all killed." Malfoy narrowed his eyes at his rival. "We're walking right into _his_ hands if we go to Hogwarts. You may as well _Avada_ yourself."

" _You_ wanted to help, _you_ demanded we bring you along. _You_ don't have anywhere else to go!" Harry's voice was ragged. He had no patience left. "If you want _him_ dead, this is the only way to do it."

Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. Any lingering euphoria from their narrow escape had gone, and so had his previous softness with Hermione. He looked bitter and afraid again. After a moment, he gave an angry nod and turned away from Harry. It was clear he did not expect them to be at liberty—or even alive—by sunrise, but he didn't argue further. And though Hermione voiced a few objections of her own while she packed the tent back into the bag, there was really nothing for it.

"It'll be okay, 'Mione," Ron said to her quietly. "They won't be expecting us."

But she thought he was very, very wrong about that. Perhaps the Death Eaters wouldn't have expected them _before_ they'd broken into Gringotts, but now? Now they might as well be waving a neon sign above their heads.

Harry wrapped them all as best he could in the invisibility cloak and, with one final round of grim looks, they turned and Disapparated.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know that in _Deathly Hallows_ , they don't get a chance to rest but instead head directly for Hogsmeade. I added a short rest (about four hours total, so that it's still nighttime when they arrive in Hogsmeade) in order to give Hermione and Draco a scene together. I hope you liked it!


End file.
